


night's fury, winter's wraith

by SeaFeudJagger



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Multi, Northern politics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War, Warging, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaFeudJagger/pseuds/SeaFeudJagger
Summary: What if Jon Snow encountered a dragon while he was in the Night's Watch?
Relationships: Alys Karstark/Sigorn, Ghost & Toothless, Jon Snow & Toothless, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Wylla Manderly/Rickon Stark
Comments: 40
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

Jon stared at the decrepit castle with a deep frown on his face.

Beneath him, the garron he rode huffed and flicked its tail, scattering the snowflakes that had been gathering there. The tracks he'd left trailing behind were starting to be filled with falling snow after three days of absence from its cold embrace.

Close by, he could feel a presence lingering and unseen.

 _Rats and ruins_ , Jon mused, eyeing the impoverished state of the Nightfort. The builders he'd sent made strides into repairing the essential structures, but the castle still lacked the necessary provisions and housing expected to host a lord and his retinue, much less a residing army. Just as Yarwyck said, it would take years before the castle can be restored to its proper condition.

 _Or mayhaps he is lying through his teeth and leading me astray by deliberately mishandling the Nightfort's restoration_ , a cynical voice said, but Jon stamped out that thought before it could take root. If he couldn't even trust his own men— _his brothers_ —then he had little hope in defending the Wall against the threats that lurk beyond it.

Deciding that there was nothing more to be done here, Jon gathered the reins of his mount, turned eastward, and began the long trek back to Castle Black.

The presence soon followed.

However, trust them as he ought to, Jon isn't blind to the misgivings that a fair number of the brothers harbor towards him for his recent decisions regarding the handling of the Night's Watch.

Men such as Ser Alliser Thorne did not mask their displeasure but made no such attempts to disobey or circumvent Jon's orders. Much as Thorne would like to voice out his objections to Jon personally, he was all too aware of the consequences for refusing a direct order from the Lord Commander.

Othell Yarwyck was no different in expressing his disapproval whenever the free folk were concerned, yet he and his builders remained steadfast in their efforts to refurbish the abandoned castles along the Wall. Jon passed by Queensgate and Deep Lake on his way to the Nightfort and judged that they were better maintained despite lacking the men to garrison it.

What made the Nightfort different then? Jon had tasked the First Builder to begin the repairs shortly after he was elected Lord Commander, many months ago. It was not until after his return from Hardhome did Jon realize that Yarwyck barely mentioned this particular castle in his reports anymore.

When Jon raised the issue to Yarwyck, he complained that the heavy snows were interfering with the construction, adding to the hindrance of the castle's size. The likelihood of his builders succumbing to frostbite was too great of a risk considering they were stretched thin and had limited supplies to begin with.

All were perfectly valid reasons that Jon found himself agreeing with. Only he couldn't help but notice that the Nightfort was also intended to be Stannis Baratheon's seat during his stay in the North. Jon had reached an agreement with the Stag King, which included ceding the castle to him in gratitude for his help in defeating the wildlings and in exchange for any men he could spare to the Watch.

Despite saving them from Mance Rayder's wildling army, King Stannis did not garner much warmth or support from the Night's Watch. His own army of lords, knights and mercenaries were a constant drain of their winter stores, his intent to settle the wildlings in the Gift an outrageous notion amongst many of the black brothers after having just survived a large scale attack from an invading host, and his presence on the Wall itself continued to strain the bounds of neutrality that the Watch preserves in order to absolve themselves from the politics of the Seven Kingdoms.

Perhaps Yarwyck hoped that Jon would receive the brunt of King Stannis' ire once he returns to Castle Black after having discovered the destitute state of the Nightfort and execute him for not fulfilling his end of their bargain. Stannis is a just but harsh man, as Lord Davos was wont to say. Jon could easily imagine the grim-faced king enacting such a punishment for reneging on a deal brokered in his name.

 _If_ , Jon corrected himself. _If Stannis returns_.

On the assumption that his suspicions prove to be true, Jon concludes Yarwyck's scheme to be ill-conceived from the moment of its inception since it relies heavily on the off-chance that Stannis returns as swiftly as he had marched away from Castle Black. Snowstorms soon followed in the king's wake, complicating the already perilous journey even further. If the weather prolongs with no signs of change, the snows will render the kingsroad to Winterfell impassable for any army—leaving anyone caught outside to die from hunger and starvation, if the cold hadn't claimed them already.

_That didn't stop you from offering advice when your vows strictly forbid it._

Jon flexed his sword hand as he rode ahead.

Around him snowfall was light, but the cold winds were rising. A steady breeze blew from the east of the Wall. His cloak swirled from his shoulders. It won't be long now until the moon has risen completely, and then the snows would come pouring down in flurries.

Jon briefly considered lighting a torch but then decided against it. The moon was full tonight and would suffice enough to guide his way back home.

 _Of course, it could all be just happenstance_ , Jon conceded. _Yarwyck is already struggling with managing the restoration of multiple castles all at once. This oversight could be an honest mistake on his part_.

And even if it were true, Jon wouldn't be able to charge Yarwyck with insubordination since his reasoning was sound and gave little cause for anyone to doubt him. He would sooner be accused of murdering his fellow brother for placing the safety of the Watch's builders above his own.

Regardless, he vowed to keep a closer eye on the First Builder's actions in the near future.

His horse trotted at a brisk pace even with the snow, making headway towards Deep Lake. After an hour's march Jon could finally make out the stone walls of the castle. By then the snow was falling in heaps, heavy and wet. The wind grew fiercer, blowing and scattering sprays of loose snow right into his face. He wiped the snowmelt off then shifted his scarf to cover more exposed skin.

With every step he took, visibility in front of him continued to worsen. At one point he pulled the reins of his mount to halt it from advancing further. Jon narrowed his eyes around him, noting the impending snowsquall and the lone castle set against the pale backdrop of the Wall before coming to a decision.

Jon peeled the glove off his burned hand, reached to pull down the scarf covering his face, placed two fingers in his mouth, and whistled loudly.

The sharp note carried even through the howl of the wind.

Within the woods nearby, the presence lifted its head from where it had been sniffing out the scent of an elusive hare. Then it was running. Snow crunched beneath its paws as it darted past undergrowth and low hanging branches, heading for the edge of the woodlands towards the trail of a familiar scent.

Suddenly, a large white direwolf appeared from between a thicket of trees, barely visible amid the fierce wind and falling snow. This did not deter the white wolf as he plunged straight into the growing snowdrifts with minimal effort until he reached Jon waiting atop his horse.

"Ghost," he breathed out, brushing his fingers through the direwolf's thick coat.

Ghost sniffed him for a moment before licking his burned hand.

"I hope your evening faired better than mine," Jon muttered. _Because we'll be spending the rest of it in a damp, dusty castle_.

On most days, Jon held no qualms with letting Ghost roam freely to hunt in the forests near Castle Black. He doubted there was many that could pose a serious threat to the direwolf, rather he worried more for anyone who might come across him during a foul mood.

But the incoming snowstorm made Jon uneasy. Already it forced him to seek shelter instead of pursuing his initial purpose of returning to Castle Black by midnight. The trip alone to Queensgate would take another three hours—perhaps even longer now with the snows rapidly piling up. Best he step aside and wait for the storm to die down then resume his march. This meant spending the night lying down on the cold hard floor of an empty castle with nothing but the wailing winds to keep him awake, but at least he'd have Ghost for company.

Choice made, Jon shifted course and guided his mount towards Deep Lake, Ghost trotting by his side.

As if in response, a sudden gust swept past him sending his cloak flapping against the wind. The chill sliced through layers of wool and leather, evoking a noticeable shiver that set his teeth to chattering.

Undeterred, Jon persisted and rode hard through the snow despite the wind's ever growing ferocity. The elements themselves seemed intent on dislodging him from the path he chose. That didn't bode well.

Midway to the castle, Jon turned his head to check the moon's position when he noticed Ghost's presence no longer beside him.

"Ghost?" he called out, turning around fully.

While snowfall had thickened considerably around him, moonlight still allowed a certain amount of visibility of his nearby surroundings. Immediately, he found the direwolf standing a few paces behind him, tense and unmoving.

"Ghost, to me!"

It took several calls before Ghost finally approached him. Jon was surprised to see the direwolf growling, hackles raised, and red eyes glaring into the night.

"What's wrong, boy?" Jon asked, his hand unconsciously grasping for Longclaw's hilt. "Trouble?"

His eyes narrowed and flitted around him, trying to spot the cause of Ghost's agitation. Both of them stood in the middle of a snowy field with clear view of their immediate area but Jon is still unable to see anything of note.

Deep Lake's entrance lay further ahead, gateless and unbothered just as it had been when he passed by it hours ago. The castle itself was meant to be a cheaper replacement of the Nightfort and hence made significantly smaller for it. However, the construction was well-financed, built with a strong foundation at its base so the buildings needed only minimal reparations even after a near century of neglect. None of the chimneys vented any smoke which reaffirmed the lack of occupants within the castle.

Likewise, the forest is too far back for anyone hiding among the trees to pose a threat unless they decide to step into the open field and attack him directly. Even then the snowdrifts would hinder their movement, leaving Jon enough time to retreat or mount a charge on horseback.

Jon didn't doubt the direwolf's keener senses or the urgency he now displayed—panting and pacing restlessly, raising his head to sniff the air—which made him all the more anxious that he couldn't identify the root of such odd behavior.

For a sudden and chilling moment, Jon considered the Others.

Pale skin and bright blue eyes. Thousands of the dead, men, women, children, rising from beneath a snowy battlefield, their once lifeless gaze glared with burning ice. Bringing with them a cold so severe that its mere presence could douse the flames of a hundred bonfires within a matter of heartbeats.

 _The night is dark and full of terrors_ , a voice seemed to whisper.

Jon swallowed hard and clenched his teeth, tightening his grip around Longclaw.

He _knew_ it to be highly unlikely. Knew that the Others couldn't have somehow breached the Wall without his notice. Proof being the towering seven hundred foot cliff of ice standing before him. Latest reports from the rangers he sent out informed him that small groups of wights, no more than two or three in number, have been spotted lingering aimlessly deep within the Haunted Forest, leagues away from the Wall.

But not a glimpse of the white walkers ever since the massacre at Hardhome.

Despite all these reassurances, Jon was unable to suppress the shiver that went down his spine. Dread crept up his chest, bringing forth the ache he felt from the blow the Other gave him during their duel. The thin unsettling screech when their blades met echoed in his ears on sleepless nights, forcing his eyes shut until the scream faded away just as it did now.

_I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the—_

BOOM!

A loud crash shook Jon from his troubled thoughts. His head snapped up, eyes wide in disbelief as he stared midway along the Wall where layers of cracks suddenly formed against the once smooth surface. White dust covered the section as shards of fractured ice fell in piles, some ending up atop the roofs and battlements of Deep Lake.

Jon was aghast. _What in Seven Hells?_

Just then, a dark-clad figure appeared with the trailing fragments of the Wall, black cloak flapping helplessly against the wind, doing all it could to break the fall before impact. An ugly crunch of wood and stone followed right as the figure broke through the rooftops and landed within the castle walls.

The resounding crashes spooked the garron he rode into rearing up on its hind legs, neighing out in terror and startling its rider. Still dumbstruck by what he witnessed, Jon did not respond quickly enough in pulling the reins and fell off his saddle with a surprised shout.

While the snow cushioned most of the fall, he still ended up on his back with the wind knocked out of him. Jon groaned and pulled himself up on his elbows, clearing his vision just in time to catch sight of Ghost running towards Deep Lake.

"Ghost, wait!"

The direwolf did not listen and sprinted past the entrance of the castle.

Grunting with some effort, Jon heaved himself back to his feet and fastened the cloak tightly around his shoulders before pressing on into the heavy winds. Snow crunched heavily beneath his boots, every step bringing him much closer to where Ghost was, along with the hope of unraveling just what in the hells happened.

He didn't imagine that, did he? A moment ago the Wall looked just as it always had been, now a small portion of it has been littered with cracks that started breaking off and dropping down to Deep Lake. He sincerely hoped the buildings didn't take the brunt of the damage.

Then he watched as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch fall from somewhere atop the Wall, trailed behind the falling debris, and met a swift end when he smashed himself against the stones of the castle grounds.

It all sounded fucking mad, but what other reasoning could there be?

And what about that sudden boom beforehand, where did that come from?

Jon tried to keep his questions at bay and strictly focused on reaching the castle. No doubt Ghost will be searching for the remains of his fellow brother and locate him soon enough. While Jon chastised the man's final actions to be foolhardy, he still owed it to him as Lord Commander to pay his last respects before burning the body.

At the very least he finally had an answer to the direwolf's previous behavior, however strange it is. Sometimes he couldn't help but shake his head in wonder at the intuition Ghost has for these kinds of situations.

Jon quickly closed the distance between them and stepped into the courtyard of the castle. Raising a gloved hand over his eyes, he peered through the blizzard raging around him. The falling snows made it incredibly difficult to properly search for Ghost, nearly every structure was blanketed in white.

He was able distinguish a faint set of tracks leading up to a building by the far end of the courtyard and strode towards it. On his approach, Jon caught sight of a large gaping hole along the rafters of the timber keep.

_No doubt as to where the poor fellow landed._

Passing by a snow-covered statue in front of the wooden steps to the entrance, Jon found Ghost standing on his hind legs, scratching at the doors of what he now surmised to be the main hall. "Easy there, Ghost." he called out softly. "Whoever he was, he's sure to be dead by now."

The direwolf backed away from the doors, whining anxiously as Jon carefully untied the double coiled rope around the handles in place of lock and key. Behind him the winter gale howled and wailed, blowing wet snow across his back and whipping his cloak forward, catching at the knees.

When he finally managed to unlock both doors, a violent gust of wind wasted no time in bursting them open, thick oaken panels rattling at the hinges. Jon staggered in, unbalanced by the breeze, and immediately set on closing the double doors shut right as Ghost's large figure brushed past by him.

A heavy thud followed soon after, wooden bar dropped firmly into place.

Jon nearly sagged against the door frame, gasping for air at the effort it took to march all the way here in the middle of a snowstorm. He felt warmth all over, barely making out the sounds of his own heavy breathing in the silence of the room, quick and strained.

Once he regained his composure, he allowed his gaze to wander over the room.

The hall was dimly lit, every window lacking glass panes were boarded up by the builders to prevent the snow from getting in. Twin hearths sat on both sides, dark and void of firewood. Four rows of tables stretched all the way across the floor, middle aisle left open for walking space towards the raised platform of the head table where the commander of Deep Lake and his officers would sit in place of honor. By his estimates, this common hall could only host around eighty men compared to that of Castle Black's.

The hole he spotted earlier from the roof outside ended up being right above the head table. Moonlight filtered through the broken thatches of wood, bathing silver beams and wisps of snow over the split table upon where the black-cloaked figure lay unmoving.

A few paces away Ghost stood with his back towards Jon, muscles taut and fur along his back standing on end. He appeared to be focused intently at the body lying over the splintered table but was unwilling to approach it.

Jon unsheathed Longclaw and cautiously moved forward.

His breath frosted in the cold air as he walked past the direwolf and got as close as he could without leaving himself vulnerable, sword raised in case the corpse came back as a wight and attacked him. His instincts weren't _screaming_ danger but he was nonetheless unsettled by Ghost's continued behavior despite nothing happening.

Darkness obscured his vision but the moon provided enough light to confirm what he already knew. The slumped figure facing away from him wore the hooded black cloak of a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. _Although he's larger than any brother I'm familiar with at Castle Black_ , admitted Jon as he stared at the body ponderously.

Then, the body shuddered.

Not the stiff and clumsy movements from that of a wight, but deep heavy panting—a steady rise and fall of the chest, as if it were breathing. As if it were _alive_.

Ghost growled and whined beside him. Jon could only stare. _That's not possible. I watched the man fall from nearly a hundred feet. He_ couldn't _have survived that._

As if to prove him wrong even further, the long trailing fabric he surmised to be the man's cloak then began to move as well. The cloth stirred and clumsily raised itself above the ground, unfurling into a pair of large leathery wings, black as midnight.

The creature shifted its body into a crawl as it released a deep rumble that echoed throughout the hall. Sleek, dark skin shone under the moonlight, revealing glittered black scales spread across the body, interspersed with bits of rope and metal.

Before he even saw the long black tail uncurl itself from around its scaly hide or the horn-like protrusions that twitched atop its large curved head and snout, which exhaled a frosty breath from its nostrils, Jon already realized his mistake.

This wasn't a mere wight, nor a sworn brother of the Night's Watch that deserted.

It was a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't obvious, the story is partially inspired by that one clip of Kit Harington auditioning with Toothless. Which spiraled into this rabbit hole of figuring out how he would fit in Westeros if he actually met Jon.
> 
> Another reason why I wrote this is, well, to explore different ways of how the Northern plot could have gone in the show had the producers not ignored or failed to use it while adding a few twists of my own. The story's basis is mostly from the show, but I'm definitely including some book aspects after rereading Jon's chapters again from ADWD. Damn, book!Jon really is more complex of character than what the show made him out to be.
> 
> I already have a solid idea on how I want this story to go, at least where The North is concerned, but I'm open to your thoughts and suggestions. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

A myriad of thoughts ran through his head as Jon stared wide-eyed at the slumbering beast. Disbelief, confusion, and alarm warred at the forefront while the rest lagged behind struggling to comprehend the impossible sight before him.

A dragon.

A _bloody_ dragon.

They were supposed to be extinct. Existing only in the tales told by Old Nan meant to enrapture the minds and imaginations of children.

But then again so were giants, skinchangers, wights and white walkers. One way or another they all turned out to be true, contrary to what everyone south of the Wall believed for centuries.

Jon felt like a fool more than ever mistaking the black dragon for a brother of the Night's Watch. The pale moonlight did little to help him discern what was falling amidst the whirlwinds of snow and ice. Even then, a dragon would be the farthest thing from his mind when witnessing someone having the misfortune of plummeting off the top of the Wall.

Which begs the question, what is a dragon even doing here this far north? They were supposed to be fiery creatures of Old Valyria, born to roam freely in the temperate skies of southern lands, not up here in the dreary cold of the North.

_Could this dragon have come from Beyond-the-Wall? Fleeing south just as the wildlings did to escape the looming threat of the Others?_

Before he could delve further into this line of thought, the dragon stirred and began to wake.

Jon stood frozen, Longclaw held loosely in his hand, as the dragon let out a huge groan. He had nowhere to run. The raging snowstorm outside ensured his continued stay within the main hall. He was trapped alone with the waking beast.

When the dragon slowly opened its eyes, Jon was transfixed by the look of emotion he found in them. Half-lidded green eyes greeted him, filled with weariness and... sorrow?

The dragon's gaze seemed to pass through Jon, staring blankly at him for several heartbeats.

Then the eyes widened in recognition. Suddenly the dragon was on its feet, head crouched low and spines bristling as a deep growl escaped its throat, dark wings spread outwards in a blatant display of intimidation.

Jon shook at the threatening sound and took several steps back. At that moment Ghost rushed out before him, baring his teeth in a silent snarl.

"Steady there, boy." Jon said breathily, tightly gripping on a tuft of white fur to keep Ghost from advancing forward. If there was one thing that could certainly pose a threat serious enough for the direwolf, it would be a dragon.

The black beast shifted its attention from him to Ghost, narrowing its bright green eyes into the direwolf's own blood red. Sensing a challenge, the dragon curled its lips back in a menacing snarl, revealing rows of sharp teeth that could easily bite off a man's arm whole.

Ghost didn't back down, however, and retained his guarded stance in front of Jon, bearing a fearsome glare that would have sent most men running at a glance.

The air was thick with tension as both sides reached a standstill, neither dragon nor wolf willing to give ground. To Jon, it felt like hours have passed by since he first entered the hall when it could only have been several minutes. His heart pounded rapidly against his chest as he desperately searched for a way out of this mess without having to resort to fighting a dragon.

While this dragon did not appear to be monstrous in size as the legends made them out to be, Jon held no misgivings as to tales of their lethality. In this enclosed space the dragon's smaller proportions could even prove to be an advantage, able to swiftly avoid any attempts of an attack by him or Ghost with the aid of those wings and retaliate from the shadows by fang or claw.

And if the dragon was provoked enough to breathe fire...

Aside from the stone flooring and twin hearths, the main hall was constructed entirely out of timber cut down from the nearby forests, completely susceptible to dragonfire. With all the windows boarded up and the double doors barred shut, Jon would soon find himself facing the difficult endeavor of escaping a burning keep whilst fending off an irate dragon.

He paled at the thought of meeting the same fate as Harren the Black and his sons.

Though the dragon remained still by its position atop the splintered remains of the head table, its eyes were in constant motion; they flitted around the room, surveying and assessing its surroundings with a glint of sharpness to them.

Wisps of snow drifted down from the hole on the roof, trailing along the tip and leathery skin of the dragon's bat-like wings. Spread out as they were, the wings alone take up nearly half the breadth of the hall. Under the low light, the dragon cut a sinister figure.

Then the dragon leapt from its elevated perch.

Jon tensed, brought Longclaw up and braced for the lunge that was soon to follow.

It never came.

Instead, the dragon landed with a soft thud on the stone floor in front of the head table. Ghost growled softly but Jon kept a firm grip on him. Removed from the glimpses of moonlight that shone through the hole in the roof, the dragon seemed to blend in with the shadows. Only the eyes remained visible, glowing faintly in the dark, pupils narrowed into thin slits that regarded him carefully.

It didn't take long for the dragon to start moving again, circling around towards the left side of the hall at a measured pace. Ghost mirrored its actions in the opposite direction, leaving a wide berth between them. Jon followed the direwolf but struggled to keep sight of the dragon's movements. If not for the eyes, he wouldn't have been able to track it. The dragon was just as silent in its footfalls as Ghost.

 _Why hasn't it attacked us yet?_ Jon wondered uneasily. The dragon must have surely considered them a threat. _What is it trying to accomplish?_

It wasn't until he reached the broken pile of the head table where the dragon once stood that the answer suddenly dawned on him.

_It's leading us away from the doors._

The dragon was placing itself right in the middle aisle, which now separated them from the only viable exit out of this hall. If they wanted to leave then they would have to get past the dragon unlike before. A clever ploy.

Distracted as he was by the dragon's actions, Jon didn't immediately take notice of his hold on Ghost lessening. Before he knew it, the direwolf broke free from his grasp and swept ahead of him, a white blur against the gloom.

"Ghost, no! To me!"

But the direwolf wasn't listening this time as he quickly sprinted towards the other side of the room and lunged at the dragon, claws raised.

The dark silhouette of the dragon shifted, green eyes disappearing for a moment just as something long and thick whipped around and swiped Ghost away. The white wolf crashed against one of the covered windows, breaking some of the wooden boards and allowing a sliver of moonlight to slip through the cracks.

The dragon twirled its tail back around and huffed a snort at the downed direwolf. Ghost retorted with a bark as he leapt back to his feet, but kept a wary distance away from the black beast nonetheless.

Green eyes narrowed at the hostile wolf. Wisps of steam escaped the sides of its maw. Faint purple light seemed to emanate from the inside of its mouth. A strange piercing whistle echoed within the hall and started to build up in intensity.

Shocked by the direwolf's abrupt charge and the ensuing retaliation, Jon forced his legs to move and soon found himself standing in between the two beasts, placed directly in front of the dragon's path.

The dragon paused briefly to regard him before grunting and releasing a low hiss in warning.

Jon hesitated.

What danger could he even present to the dragon? Sure, he had Longclaw and a dagger on him, but the dragon already proved how nimble it was in its movements and could easily slink away in the dark if he came too close for comfort.

The dragon also displayed an unsettling amount of intelligence when it had purposefully led them along to a weaker position after carefully surveying the hall's interior, leaving him unaware of its intentions until it was too late. Staring into those green eyes, Jon had the uneasy feeling that distracting or tricking the dragon into constantly shifting its attention between him and Ghost as he edged closer to unlock the doors was going to be much more difficult than he imagined.

No. He wasn't going to risk Ghost, especially not against a foe they both couldn't beat together even at once.

Jon felt more than heard Ghost prowling behind him, perhaps ready to resume the fight. The direwolf barely took one step beside him when he met the smoky glint of a sword blocking his path. Ghost raised his head to meet Jon's cool gaze, baring his fangs in silent protest.

But Jon was having none of it. He looked directly into those deep red eyes, once more reminded of weirwoods and the carved faces of a heart tree.

"Stand down, Ghost." His voice was hard and unyielding.

The direwolf whined and snapped his teeth towards the direction of the dragon, but ultimately retreated behind Jon.

Exhaling a long breath, Jon turned his attention back to the dragon and was surprised to see the black beast's gaze directed not at him but on something to his right. Ghost? But the direwolf already fell back a few paces behind Jon though still remained close enough to intervene if needed.

 _No, not Ghost. It's staring at Longclaw_ , he realized.

Indeed, the dragon was glaring intently on the sword when Jon raised it to block Ghost from attacking again. There was a deep mistrust in its eyes. Could it tell the blade was made out of Valyrian steel? Some tales do claim that the metal was forged in dragonfire. Perhaps it could sense the blade through the usage of its brethren's fiery breath?

Jon doubted that was the reason. The hostility it showed reminded him more of the first time he entered Mance Rayder's camp in the Frostfangs. How nearly every wildling he encountered had given him unwelcome glances ranging from scorn to downright threats for being a crow, even when he appeared as a turncloak. Despite his painful efforts to gain their trust, Jon never felt like he was truly accepted among them except for Ygritte. In the end, he betrayed her as well.

The dragon seemed no different from the free folk, believing that he only saw the worst in them. Dismissed as savages, thieves and rapists by everyone south of the Wall, nothing more.

He had been a green boy back then. In some ways he still is, but bit by bit he's had to shed those layers of boyhood whims in order to survive, forced to accept that not everything was so straightforward as his upbringing would have him believe and how little reward there is in fulfilling his duty despite knowing it was the only choice he could do.

_Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy, and let the man be born._

It was with Maester Aemon's words in mind that an idea started to form. A stupid idea if he thought too deeply about it, but he already had few alternatives to begin with.

Jon took several deep breaths to calm his nerves before slowly bringing Longclaw up.

The dragon tensed, horn-like ears flattening against the sides of its scaly head. A guttural growl escaped from the back of its throat, purple light starting to glow once more.

His grip on the sword tightened, gloved fingers squeezing the soft leather of the hilt. Poised to strike, Jon could easily choose to close the distance between them and attempt an upward thrust that would pierce the left wing, or slash at its face to force the dragon back and hope for an opening to present itself for a follow up attack.

Instead, he threw Longclaw away.

The silence that followed was almost as deafening as the clang of the sword hitting the ground. Longclaw skidded to a stop several feet towards his right just out of reach, but Jon barely noticed it. The reaction he garnered from the dragon was far more catching and not at all what he expected.

The look of plain shock across its features was remarkably distinguishable even in the low light: horn plates dropped, eyes considerably widened and jaw slacked open in surprise. Its large head swiveled rapidly back and forth between Jon and the sword he willingly tossed aside before finally settling on him with those intense green eyes.

Up until this point the dragon had been crouched low on all fours, neck stretched forward close to the ground and wings flared imposingly. Then the dragon straightened its legs, folded those wings slightly and rose to proper height. With its head held high, the dragon stood at least a full head taller than Jon if not moreso. The dragon sniffed the air for several heartbeats before deciding to approach him.

Jon resisted the urge to step back when the beast drew near, knowing it would be a mistake to show uncertainty now. Though the dragon's movements were still guarded, its posture did not suggest the same amount of aggression from before. It appeared to be curious if nothing else.

This up close, the dragon's eyes were even more striking. A peculiar shade of verdant reminiscent of the wolfswood on rare summer days when sunlight reflected off the verdure of numerous trees. Flecks of gold encircled the pupils like a ring, somehow enhancing the vivid likeness of the visage staring back at him.

Jon had to avert his gaze, feeling rather exposed under that penetrating stare, as if the dragon could delve deep into his eyes and unveil the thoughts hidden from within.

The dagger strapped to the side of his belt suddenly weighed heavily. Covered by his black cloak, the knife remained concealed from the dragon's keen sight and now the dragon was within reach and completely unaware. His sword hand flexed, fingers twitching.

He ought to do it, plunge that dagger right into the dragon's heart or slit its throat. This could be his only chance of doing so before the dragon realized his intentions. Of course, the likelihood of failure is even more probable. He had no idea if a dagger could even pierce into the hide let alone slash through those scales. If he failed in his attempt, the dragon would not take kindly to it and no doubt kill him. Jon didn't like it but could find no other way around without spilling blood.

His fingers slowly closed around the hilt of the dagger, making sure to keep the hand motion steady so as not to provoke any ripples along the fabric of the cloak. When he dropped Longclaw earlier he had raised both hands up to show that he held no weapon, gradually lowering them as the dragon closed the distance until his sword arm was tucked behind the cloak.

"Easy now, dragon..." The words felt hoarse in his throat even as he said it. "I mean you no harm..."

With his head lowered, Jon couldn't see the dragon. But he felt every breath it took passing over his head, steams of frost exhaled through the nostrils and landed on his hair. A low rumble could be heard deep within its throat.

 _Any moment now_ , Jon thought, gripping the dagger tightly.

His eyes searched the dragon's body for a spot that would cleanly pierce right through the heart. Jon had no wish to see the beast suffer, intending for its death to be quick and painless if possible.

Shards of silver filtered through the cracks of the broken window, illuminating that small portion of the hall and providing a proper glimpse of the dragon's figure. Black scales covered the majority of its body, the largest of which centered around the forelegs in rough patterns with short spines protruding from the sides. Faint scars marked the hide in patches. Old wounds, perhaps inflicted from past battles. The deepest one being a large gash in between the right shoulder and neck around a foot in length with a width of about an inch.

As Jon continued his perusal, something caught the corner of his eye.

Around the dragon's thick neck appeared to be a strip of leather firmly wrapped and tightened by a metal buckle.

He had to blink twice and squint to see it clearly, surprised that he managed to miss such detail when the dragon first revealed itself. Curious now, his eyes followed the trail it led to the back of the neck, revealing another set of leather straps fastened to the shoulders and attached to curved pieces of metal encircling around the upper front legs, secured with more leather straps just below the chest.

When a particularly strong gust of wind sent the thatched roofing of the main hall shuddering along the rafters, the dragon lifted its head up and growled at the violent noise caused by the storm outside. Twisting its neck to the side brought attention to a large leather pad flattened against the dragon's back and extending towards the rear, which he hadn't been able to notice from the front.

"It's a saddle," Jon whispered, dumbfounded. _The dragon is wearing a saddle._

The peculiar assortment of leather and metal strapped across the dragon's body now looked rather painfully obvious. It was a modified harness meant to support the weight of the saddle attached to it and tethered the entire piece together once the dragon flew in the air. There were even stirrups on either side, strangely crafted as they seemed.

_Does that mean this dragon has a rider? Like the Targaryens of old?_

Hearing his voice, the dragon shifted its attention from the ceiling back to Jon, who was unable to tear his own eyes away quickly enough. Because of its height, the dragon had to slightly stoop its head to peer down at him, meeting his gaze at the same level.

Its pupils, which had been narrow thin slits before, gradually widened into black oval orbs tinged with equal amounts curiosity and caution. Just like he was.

His resolve wavered. Could he really kill this dragon now knowing that there was someone out there searching for it or awaiting its return?

Jon remembered losing Ghost beyond the Wall, forced he was to let him go before joining the wildlings in climbing the Wall. For so long afterwards he couldn't sense the direwolf, believed him gone just like Ygritte, Robb and the rest. Leaving him with nothing but the sorrow of their deaths hanging over his head. The joy he felt when they were finally reunited was insurmountable.

The dagger suddenly felt like ice in his hand. He was tempted to throw it away just as he did Longclaw, but even unsheathing the blade this close could appear as a act of hostility. Never mind the hesitance he still harbored in divesting himself of his only weapon if the beast decides to attack.

_This dragon could easily tear you apart if it wanted to._

_But it didn't_ , some part of his mind countered and he was compelled to agree. The dragon had plenty of chances to strike a killing blow on him or Ghost but didn't pursue it. Like Jon, it had assessed them first, and determined what to do next based on their actions. This was no mere mindless beast.

Peering into those green eyes once more, all he could see was Ghost.

Jon muttered a silent prayer to the old gods and, against his better judgment, loosened his fingers around the hilt of the dagger until his hand fell back to his side. Shutting his eyes from the dragon's stare, he lowered his head and sank to one knee on the floor.

For several moments, nothing happened. The only sounds he could hear were his labored breathing and the tumultuous snowstorm outside. Even keeping his knee up took an effort, his legs beginning to sore after enduring a brisk ride on horseback for hours on end without rest and continuing on foot under the pelting snow.

Then a sharp intake of air came from the dragon.

Jon tensed, half-expecting to be engulfed in a plume of flames.

The dragon let out three loud sniffs, followed by a guttural trilling noise and low grumbling from the back of its throat. With his eyes shut tight, Jon couldn't see what the dragon was doing but he could almost picture the scene happening in his mind's eye.

The dark silhouette of the dragon loomed over his kneeling figure, looking even taller than before. Its bulky head was lowered just a hair's breadth above his own. The urge to pounce at the beast arose but was quickly tempered by the strict orders he himself had given earlier. He wanted to snap his teeth to express his disapproval but obeyed all the same.

A loud grunt interrupted his thoughts. Jon blinked his eyes open, the sensation of pulling out disconcerting and almost real enough to make his head spin. It took a moment to register that the sound had been from the dragon as it turned around abruptly and crossed over to the other side of the room, leaving him kneeling before empty air.

Jon let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, shoulders slacking in relief as he slumped backwards against the ground. The adrenaline coursing through his veins finally dwindled out and the weight of the day's exhaustion came back in full force. Suddenly, he felt very tired.

Ghost was by his side in an instant, keeping him company and providing a cushion of warmth. Jon grasped the white fur in between his gloved fingers and sighed against the soft fabric, immensely thankful for Ghost's presence with him.

He didn't know how long he laid there on the stone cold floor, wrapped in his cloak and huddled next to the direwolf, but it felt like hours. His body ached and his eyelids were beginning to droop. All he wanted was to fall asleep right then and there, just barely managing to withhold himself from doing so.

With the dragon situation under control for now, he still had a few things left to do before turning in for the night. The most important being he needed to get a fire going.

And so with gritted teeth, Jon pushed himself to an upright position. Laying a steady hand on Ghost for support, he unfastened the cloak and let it slip from his shoulders. Once he got to his feet he stiffly walked over to inspect the condition of the hearths.

Across the room the dragon lay curled up just in front of the broken remains of the head table, wings folded completely and head resting on top of its front paws. When Jon spared a few glances at the dragon its eyes had been closed, but each time he faced away he swore he could feel the weight of its gaze bearing on him.

Of the two hearths built inside, he only found one of them to be functional. The other had collapsed from within, chunks of stones from the chimney piling out of the firebox. It would take the rest of the night just to remove all the debris so he had little choice but to settle for only one source of fire to keep the hall warm during his stay. Fortunately, it was the hearth closest to him and Ghost.

Normally, a hall like this would have stacks of firewood kept in the storeroom especially for constant usage in the kitchens, but Deep Lake has been abandoned for decades. While the builders may have restored the castle back to acceptable habitable conditions, they left the replenishing of its supplies to the future inhabitants once they settled in the castle. So he had to make do with what he has.

The splintered pieces of wood from the head table would make for decent kindling, but Jon was hesitant to go near the dragon's vicinity. Despite acknowledging the fact that the dragon did actually decide to spare him, he was not eager to test if it would do so again given another chance. So he started breaking off the limbs of several chairs around the long tables instead.

After gathering a suitable amount and stacking them inside the hearth itself, Jon reached into his belt in search for something before realizing where it was and cursing aloud.

He left the flint in the saddlebags of his garron.

Worse, the horse was still probably cantering off somewhere out in that snowstorm. He had better chances of getting Ghost and the dragon to cooperate than finding that horse during a blizzard like this. He wasn't entirely concerned for its safety; horses in the north were bred for this type of climate and could weather the storm with little issue.

But it could have wandered a great distance just to search for shelter and Jon would waste plenty of time just looking for it. He dreaded continuing the journey back to Castle Black entirely on foot, especially if the storm persists.

He knew of other ways to start a fire, but they were tedious and time consuming and the cold air would only hinder his progress. He wasn't sure if he had the patience left to perform such a precise task but it was either that or turn his already discomforting sleeping arrangements even more uncomfortable.

With a soft sigh Jon shuffled back to the long tables to gather more pieces of wood.

He barely took three steps forward when a bright light suddenly flashed throughout the room.

Startled, Jon nearly jumped at the loud crack that followed and swiftly turned around. He immediately stopped in his tracks and stared.

A roaring fire now blazed in the small hearth where moments previously only half-frozen and unlit stacks of broken furniture once stood.

Jon had to shake his head to get rid of the shock he felt and rushed forward to add more firewood to keep the flames burning. Already he could feel the heat seeping through the layers of wool and leather and alleviating some of the soreness across his body.

It took a while before he was satisfied by the amount he placed to keep the fire steady going until daylight arrived and by then the hall was suffused with enough warmth that it appeared almost welcoming in contrast to when he first entered.

Releasing a relieved breath, Jon straightened from his crouch and was about to walk away before pausing. He stood still for a moment then faced towards his right, eyeing the other occupant in the room.

The dragon looked the same as it had been when he last glanced at it half an hour ago, eyes still shut. However, Jon couldn't help but notice the wisps of smoke faintly escaping through its nostrils where before there hadn't been.

Jon didn't know if the dragon could understand or even hear him, but the words came unbidden all the same. "Thank you," he muttered quietly.

He turned away to go pick up Longclaw from where he had tossed it aside earlier, and so was unable to notice the way the dragon's ears pricked in his direction.

Ghost had not moved an inch from his position stretched out beside his discarded cloak. In the firelight, his eyes glowed red like rubies. Though his head was lowered, the direwolf's gaze remained intently trained on the dragon dozing not too far from them.

Jon scratched him in between his furry ears, strangely certain that the dragon won't be a bother to them, at least for tonight.

He untied his sword belt and set it aside, but left Longclaw and his dagger on the ground next to him just in case. After peeling off his gloves and removing the scarf around his neck, he finally settled down on his makeshift bed with a wince.

His cloak was not the best substitute for sleeping furs, but it would have to do.

He slept soundly for the rest of the night, the first he's had in months.

By the time he woke up, Jon wondered if the events of last night even happened or he dreamed the entire thing altogether.

One glance at the bulky figure slumbering across the room dashed those hopes immediately.

The dragon appeared to be fast asleep, chest rising and falling with each steady breath. Its large black wings were lowered, almost folding around the body and covering the legs like a blanket. The peaceful visage it presented was almost unrecognizable to the fearsome creature from the night before.

It was only then that the reality of the situation came crashing down upon him.

An actual dragon. The first of its kind ever to be seen in centuries and it was at the Wall sharing the floor of an abandoned castle with a bastard and a direwolf.

The tale sounded preposterous even to his own ears.

If Stannis Baratheon's presence in the north alone was enough of a concern to gain the attention of the Iron Throne, he could only imagine what the Lannisters would do if they started hearing whispers of dragons at the Wall coming back to life once again. Jon wasn't eager to find out.

That's not even taking into consideration the reaction of his fellow brothers in the Night's Watch once they found out. Jon had a feeling they won't be quite as understanding as he was. Having wildlings manning the Wall and the continued food shortage was enough to provoke a few brawls among the ranks. They were usually dealt with swiftly by his men, but tension still lingered. It's only a matter of time before a new problem arises which can't be solved by mere punishments or threats and Jon was afraid the Night's Watch will not be able to survive the outcome.

The free folk were also a concern. While Jon trusted Tormund enough to keep the peace they agreed to, he was not so sure about the other wildling leaders themselves, especially the seasoned raiders. Loboda in particular still treated him with mistrust, keeping his steel battle axe close to hand whenever they spoke despite rescuing him from Hardhome. His suspicious behavior may have also come from the fact that he was not among those chosen to be given a castle to command. So far Jon has only conferred Oakenshield to Tormund and Stonedoor to Soren Shieldbreaker; the rest were still undecided.

Plenty of the free folk remained at Castle Black or Mole's Town where Jon could keep a close eye on them. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility for a few adventurous or foolhardy among those lot to be able to get past his patrols and venture into the hills and forests of the Gift. It would only take for one of them to see the dragon and rumors will spread quick as wildfire among the free folk. They'd get themselves killed trying to hunt it for the glory.

Anyway he sees it, the dragon must stay here in Deep Lake until its rider returns. He may have to conduct investigations himself of any peculiar folk found wandering around the Wall to speed up the process and reunite dragon with master so they could leave.

And those were just the immediate problems he could think of. He's sure there will be more to come, there always was.

_Now you're sounding a lot like Edd._

In spite of his troubled musings, Jon had to snort at the thought as he pulled on his gloves.

Ghost was still dozing by the time Jon donned his cloak. The direwolf's vigilant watch over the dragon must have lasted well into the night before he succumbed to sleep. Jon used this period to peer through the window boards and determine the state outside.

From what he can tell, the snowstorm stopped hours ago. The snowdrifts did not accumulate as much as he expected them to be after a blizzard like that. Judging from the beams of light shining through the hole in the roof it looked to be the sun was shining, marking a warm day ahead.

Jon glanced at the hearth, which had been reduced to mere embers, and estimated that it must be late morning by now. He had enough time to search for his horse and hopefully return to Castle Black without having to walk the entire way.

He nudged Ghost lightly with the tip of his boot, and waited patiently for him to stretch his legs and yawn silently. The direwolf seemed eager to get out of the hall, heading straight for the doors as soon as he got to his feet with Jon following closely in his wake. The moment he removed the heavy wooden bar and pulled one of the doors open, Ghost already sped past him.

Jon spared one last glance at the dragon and was surprised to see it had not awoken from all the ruckus they caused. Watching the dragon sleep, he was reminded once more of his decision not to kill it last night and remained conflicted if he did the right choice. He had a feeling he'll be finding out sooner than he expected.

Securing the double doors with the same ropes he untied from yesterday felt rather pointless considering the dragon could just simply burn the entire thing down if it wanted to escape. But he still did it anyway to dissuade anyone else who might come across the castle seeking for shelter, lest the dragon turns the hall into its lair.

At the bottom of the wooden steps he found Ghost rolling in the snowdrifts. The big white direwolf basked in the soft scent of fresh snow. He bounced back onto his feet once he saw Jon and shook himself off. "Enjoying yourself, are we?" Jon asked amusedly.

Ghost nuzzled his outstretched hand in affirmation then bounded towards Deep Lake's entrance, keen to be out in the fields hunting for prey.

Jon chuckled as he walked around the snow-covered statue erected on a stone pedestal before the main hall. When he reached the front, he noticed that the statue was actually carved out of white marble and depicted a short slim young woman garbed in rich clothing, hands clasped in front and hair pulled back in a bun.

Mildly curious as to the identity of the woman, he wiped a gloved hand off the lumps of snow covering the tablet attached to the pedestal, and read the inscription.

_Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen_

_Patron of Deep Lake_

_Friend of the Night's Watch_

Jon stared at the stone tablet for several heartbeats before regarding the locked double doors of the main hall which now housed a slumbering dragon.

 _A coincidence_ , he thought to himself, shaking his head. _Nothing more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I never realized how inconsistent Toothless' height and size was portrayed in the movies and tv series until I started writing this chapter. Seriously there are episodes where Hiccup is bigger than Toothless and others where Toothless suddenly gains an extra size. Even in some of the promotional images Toothless' height is way exaggerated. So based on what I've read online and my own measurements via painstaking screenshots, I've decided Toothless in this story at full height on all four legs is around 6ft 10in not including his ear flaps. Kinda strange to think about how adult Hiccup is taller than Jon Snow by 7 inches.
> 
> Anyway, stay safe out there and thanks for reading the chapter. I hope you enjoyed it.


	3. Chapter 3

When Stannis departed from Castle Black, it was the first time Jon had witnessed an actual army break camp with surprising speed and efficiency. The king made his decision known that same morning after he broke fast with his lords and knights. Jon had been summoned to the meeting as well being their host in the castle.

Several of the gathered nobles had grumbled or voiced their concerns about the journey ahead, but just as many nodded their approval. The hired sellsword captain was the loudest to voice his support, though his eagerness to leave may have more to do with his shivering countenance and inexperience in the northern cold rather than actually agreeing with the reasoning Stannis had given.

Regardless of their protests, the king's mind was set and he issued brisk orders to break camp and prepare the men to march before midday. They managed to finish early with two hours to spare.

Squires and camp followers hurriedly flitted in and out of the castle, taking down tents, packing supplies and loading baggage to the wagons and horses. Knights and men-at-arms complained to one another about the snows as they checked their equipment and pulled on thick cloaks to escape the bite of the cold while waiting in the yards. All done under the watchful eye of the king.

Stannis was not an easy man to like nor as charismatic as his brothers, but he clearly commanded the respect of his men and thus they followed his orders with little resistance. The free folk host in Mance Rayder's command were not disciplined enough to replicate such a task under the given time span. At best, it would have taken them about half the day before they were ready to march. Even with his popularity among the ranks, the Old Bear would have struggled to rally the black brothers into accomplishing the same feat.

Of course, a large part of that had to do with the quality of the men under their command, but an able military commander is essential in utilizing his army's strengths and weaknesses to lead them to victory. Stannis just so happens to have the tenacity and stubbornness to be able to achieve that.

In contrast, his queen could not have been any more different.

Jon recently received a raven from Stannis carrying orders that his wife and child are to head down south instead of progressing to the Nightfort as intended. When he delivered the message to the queen, Selyse declared that she need not hinder him any longer and would leave as soon as they were able to per her king's command.

That had been four days ago and only now did the queen's party of fifty finally started to convene in the yard, taking no great hurry in leaving the comforts of Castle Black.

Jon stood by the stables for almost the entire morning on that first day, snowflakes gathering in piles across his hair and cloak. He was joined by Bowen Marsh, Dolorous Edd and several others to bid Selyse farewell, not yet realizing that their waiting was all for naught.

"Her queenliness certainly knows how to take her time," Edd said by the second day.

"And our food stores," Bowen Marsh added gloomily. "We were barely managing as it is with all the king's men and queen's men to look after. When King Stannis left I had hoped for some respite to further plan our rationing but instead we traded a small army for thousands more mouths to feed, and majority of them wildlings."

The gripe was meant to be directed at him but Jon couldn't find it in himself to dispute the man's words, plenty of other thoughts occupying his attention. Even then he couldn't deny that the Lord Steward's worries weren't unfounded.

Even before he had set sail for Hardhome, Jon already surmised that he'd be putting further strain on the Watch's already depleted supplies if he followed through with his mission. He'd seen the vaults himself, heeded to Bowen's advice that they ought to switch to winter rations in small quantities and preserve as much of their inventory as possible. Convincing the free folk to follow him brought with it its own list of complications. Many of them were too sick and starved to survive the journey back and many more would gladly greet his offers for peace with a knife to his stomach.

And yet he still went and tried to rescue them anyway.

Did he do the right thing? Or was he a fool for even trying?

Bowen, Yarwyck and the others believed it was a mistake bringing them here. The Watch should be his first priority, they'd said, not the savages who had just recently launched an attack on Castle Black and the Wall and nearly succeeded. His brothers bled and died to repel the wildling invasion and now he was telling them that they'd be breaking bread and salt with their former enemies.

But was the alternative any better? From what Tormund told him and the ravens he'd received from Cotter Pyke, as close to ten thousand wildlings if not more were gathering at Hardhome. A cursed place, he was told, but still they sought to take shelter there. Vulnerable to elements, and to the mercy of the Others.

Jon did all he could to try and mitigate the risks; he reached an agreement with Stannis to loan him his ships, persuaded Tormund and the other captured free folk to join and help convince their brethren to cross the Wall, and even came himself to show that the presence of the Lord Commander will guarantee their safe passage.

A tired sigh left his lips as Jon shifted away from the window where he had been observing the commotion below, his solar atop the Lord Commander's tower giving him a sweeping view of the grounds.

_All those preparations_ , he thought, moving to sit behind his desk, _and I still failed to save them_.

There was a knock on the door before opening to reveal the young face of his steward, Olly.

"Breakfast, m'lord?"

"Aye. And more kindling for the fire, if you please."

Olly nodded and disappeared from his sight with quiet click from the door.

Jon rubbed his eyes to ward off any lingering traces of sleep then rummaged through his desk in search of a particular parchment. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for: a slightly unfurled letter showing the golden wax seal of a stag's head within a flaming heart. He gently flattened the parchment and read its contents once again.

Stannis had followed his advice through and managed to convince the mountain clans to join him in his quest to retake the North from the Boltons. He was to march off towards Deepwood Motte next to push back the invading ironborn but deviated course after learning about the recent infighting among the lords near the northern boundaries of the wolfswood.

Lord Hugo Wull's scouts have reported that the Whitehills of Highpoint have finally driven off their rivals, the Forresters, from their ancestral seat of Ironrath and claimed the stronghold for themselves. However, their numbers have steadily depleted from the constant battles fought and as a result only a skeleton force could be spared to occupy the castle when Lord Whitehill hastily left with the rest of his army to answer Ramsay Bolton's summons.

Sensing an opportunity to bleed the Bolton bannerman and establish a foothold this far south, Stannis engaged the remaining garrison with his knights and mountain clansmen, promptly capturing Ironrath with little issue. Once the king deemed the castle adequate enough for his purposes despite the sacking it endured, he had the surviving maester draft a missive to Jon bearing news of his progress.

Jon has repeatedly perused this letter for the past few days that he could almost recite the words themselves all by memory, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about it.

If he remembered correctly, Ironrath lied east of Deepwood Motte, far along the edges of the wolfswood. The dense forest was vast enough to screen the movements of Stannis's forces so long as they kept out of sight and not draw attention to their approach. But once word of a sudden attack on a nearby castle reaches the ironborn, they will be alerted of a possible enemy host close by and better prepare themselves for an assault, or perhaps even be spooked into slipping away amid their longships to avoid battle.

Which isn't a problem in itself, since it meant driving the ironborn away from the northern shores. But Stannis _needed_ a clear victory to prove his worth as king to the northmen and gain further support from other Northern lords. And what better way of doing so by crushing the much hated reavers left festering in the North? His successful capture of Ironrath could very well endanger that opportunity if he isn't vigilant enough.

On the other hand, Jon somewhat understood the reasoning behind the king's decision to reclaim Ironrath. His army was already under-supplied due to Jon's refusal of yielding any more of the Watch's already limited resources _._ Which remained a sore point of contention between him and Stannis, softened only by the promise of three thousand men and Lord Davos's assurances.

_Does it make me a hypocrite that I gave the thought less pause when it concerned the free folk_?

Ironrath may not be a prominent castle, but it suited the king's needs well enough for the moment, providing the basic necessities of shelter, recuperation, and restocking for his men to exploit before another march. Due in no small part to the Whitehills' efforts of transitioning the castle for their own use before their departure.

_At the very least, Stannis would win the favor of the Glovers for avenging their fallen bannermen_ , Jon mused, recalling that the Forresters were sworn to the Masters of Deepwood Motte. _That is if he could also free them from their own castle._

Jon set the letter aside just as Olly returned with breakfast in hand. He gave a nod of thanks to the boy and dug into his meal. But try as he might to stray his focus elsewhere, his thoughts kept trickling back to the details of the letter.

Why was he even fixated on this? _The Night's Watch takes no part._ Pondering on the movements of Stannis's army was getting him nowhere and is starting to become a distraction from his duties as Lord Commander. He already did his part and kept to his vows as best he could while giving advice to the king _. Words are not swords_. His oath was to the Watch. To his brothers. For the good of the realm.

His gloved fingers gripped the utensils tightly.

Deep down a selfish part of him knew why, much as it pained him to deny it out loud. Stannis was his sister's only chance of escaping the cruel fate bestowed upon her: to be wedded to the Bastard of the man who betrayed and killed their brother.

_Well, not her only chance..._

Jon grimaced, taking a sip of sweet wine to rinse the bitter taste that suddenly formed in his mouth.

Best not think about it. It would only get his hopes up.

The crackling and spitting sounds coming from his left made Jon glance up from his meal, only to witness Olly gingerly placing fresh logs to the fire until the flames leapt anew, filling the drafty room with newfound warmth.

The sight of the flames burning fiercely within the hearth brought forth to mind the _other_ pressing matter that Jon has yet to find a solution to.

Nearly a week has passed since Jon had sought refuge in Deep Lake to escape a particularly tumultuous snowstorm and instead stumbled across a living breathing dragon residing its stone walls. The memory of the encounter was so vivid that he was unlikely to forget it anytime soon. It was a miracle that he didn't get himself killed, much less survive the encounter with all his limbs intact.

The dragon's presence at the Wall coupled with the arrival of Stannis's letter and his subsequent duties as Lord Commander gave Jon little sleep in the days that followed. On some mornings he half-expected to wake up to the alarmed cries of his men screaming "Dragon!" or the roof above his head bursting into flames followed by a hail of dragonfire.

These fears have fortunately proved to be unfounded, for the moment, as no unusual sightings of any kind have come up from the patrols, and idle chatter among the free folk mostly centered around talks of restlessness, boredom, hunger, speculation, and a longingness to return to raiding. Which raised its own list of concerns, especially the latter point, but not entirely unexpected. That needed to be handled with careful oversight so as not to provoke any tensions from rising.

Jon has not returned to Deep Lake since then—he wasn't even sure if the dragon still remained in the keep or had fled the premises entirely—but that did not mean he merely sat idle in his own chambers while its sudden appearance at the Wall remains a mystery.

As such he had sent messages to the Shadow Tower, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and all the other inhabited castles along the Wall to inquire if any strange persons have been found lingering around the area. He even dispatched a rider to Oakenshield to ask Tormund if he had any information or came across anyone odd whilst he was pillaging villages on his way to attack Castle Black.

Jon was vague in his wording, not wanting to raise any suspicions as to why he was looking for someone bearing the resemblance of a traditional Valyrian. They stick out like a sore thumb as it is and would constitute as foreign enough to garner attention from those who have never heard or seen of their likeness before.

He has yet to receive a response regarding his inquiries, but Jon was cautiously optimistic that he would be able to learn something about the missing rider which could lead to tracking him down so that he could be reunited with his dragon and peacefully depart from the Wall.

_That being said_ , Jon thought, thrumming his fingers against the rough-hewn wood of the table. _Another visit is needed soon_. If nothing else but to ensure whether Deep Lake still remains standing or the dragon had torched the entire castle down to cinders in its wake. Who knows, perhaps the dragon might have even left already, and all this delving would be for naught.

_I'll leave on the morrow_ , he decided after some deliberation.

Queen Selyse would have left by then, hopefully this time for good, removing one less headache for Jon to deal with. Her dislike of him was not quite obvious, lying just beneath the veneer of politeness she portrays whenever exchanging words of courtesy with him. For all her complaining about the chilly northern weather, she ought to feel right at home. The less said about her retinue of southron knights, the better.

Jon was in the midst of finishing his meal when another knock came by the door.

"Enter."

A short, chunky boy with a wide red face peeked from behind the door.

"Lord Commander," the boy said uncertainly.

"Ah, Drevyn," Jon greeted his page, Tormund's son. He gestured towards the tray on his desk. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

Drevyn shook his head. "Not yet, m'lord. The ironman's been having us lot to fletch arrow shafts all morning. Says we'd only get breakfast once we reach to fifty."

_That sounds like Emmett, alright_ , Jon thought with amusement. The master-at-arms prefers to keep the recruits busy so they wouldn't be prone to slacking off. "What brings you here then?"

"The knight with mean eyes pulled me away and ordered to tell you that he be wanting to speak with you, m'lord." Drevyn shifted awkwardly on his feet.

_Thorne?_ Jon frowned slightly, not expecting to hear from the man today. Something must have come up. He straightened in his seat. "Very well, tell him to come by my solar. I'll meet with him shortly."

Drevyn gave a rather absent nod, instead eyeing his plate greedily.

"Would you like to have some, Drevyn?" Jon asked kindly, pushing the leftovers of his meal across the table.

For a heartbeat, the boy looked almost eager to accept but then showed hesitance at the last moment. His eyes shifted nervously to the side before stammering, "N-No thank you, m'lord. I have to finish my arrows," and hastily shutting the door behind him.

Jon blinked at the abrupt change in behavior. Surely Drevyn wasn't afraid of Emmett punishing him harshly for not completing his task? Iron Emmett may have threatened multiple times to thump the heads of the free folk hostages if they don't follow his orders, but Jon had yet to see or hear the man actually go through with it. He was a fair mentor in the eyes of the recruits.

Thorne's rough treatment of the boy hadn't escaped his notice, nor was it a surprise to Jon. His embittered attitude was directed towards anyone he despises, whether they were wildlings or sworn brothers. Still, he seemed unlikely to be the cause of Drevyn's hasty retreat.

The confusion finally cleared from his face when Jon realized he wasn't the only other occupant in the room.

He glanced towards his left where Olly stood stiffly, fists clenched tightly against his sides. The steward was glaring fiercely at the door.

"Something you'd like to say, Olly?"

His curt voice startled the boy out of his stupor. Olly flushed and turned his gaze downwards, unable to meet his flinty eyes. "No, Lord Snow."

Jon regarded him coolly, dragging the uncomfortable silence for several moments longer to make his point clear before he nodded slowly. "You may take your leave."

Olly quickly and quietly cleared his table of the plates, utensils and cup, placing them neatly on the tray that came with it. He muttered his farewell and shuffled away, his steps bringing him close to the door when Jon spoke again.

"Olly," he called out softly, prompting the boy to pause in his tracks, outstretched hand hanging in the air, reaching for the door.

"I know you do not like them. What the free folk did to your family and village was abhorrent. Your grief and anger are justified." With his back towards him, Jon could see Olly's shoulders visibly tense. "Believe me, I understand the pain better than most. But we must set aside our personal feelings for the good of the realm. Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it. And the truth of the matter is we _need_ them. The Night's Watch alone does not have the means of protecting the Wall from what's coming. The Others have a strength in numbers that greatly outmatches our own tenfold. _They_ are the real threat. Not the free folk."

"I am not asking you to forgive them, or to simply forget the transgressions they've done. That is your choice to give. But I am ordering you to cooperate with them. They need not be your enemy, Olly."

Olly remained deathly silent throughout and after his words ended, as if processing them carefully. Finally, the rigid boy slowly reached for the handle, opened the door and left with nary a word spoken.

Jon kept his gaze on the door for a long while, pondering if he should have just kept his mouth shut and let the boy stew in his thoughts. After all, this wouldn't be the first time that Jon let his frustrations known regarding the animosity displayed by his sworn brothers towards the free folk. Gods only know the number of lengthy arguments he's had in this room with Bowen, Yarwyck and Septon Cellador about his choices concerning the Watch.

Olly was a young lad still, just around the same age as Bran by now had his brother lived. Jon hopes that he would be able to change his views just as Jeor Mormont did to him when he lashed out after learning of Ned Stark's death. It was one of the reasons why Jon appointed him as his steward and squire after his ascension to Lord Commander. But the boy's resentment towards the free folk was too great and clouded his sense to see reason.

Already he could feel the dull sensations of a headache forming at the back of his head just from thinking about the ever growing tally of obligations and burdens he has to account for piling on top of his shoulders. The day has barely even started.

On days like this he truly wished that he'd never left Winterfell, or that cave with Ygritte.

With a grimace, Jon pushed those fanciful thoughts aside and hardened his heart. _I've made my bed and now I must lie in it._ There was other business to attend to.

He didn't have to wait long for Alliser Thorne to enter his office.

"Lord Commander," he greeted gruffly.

"First Ranger," Jon nodded, gesturing to the seat in front of the table. "What have you to report?"

Ser Alliser made no move to sit. "My rangers have returned from beyond the Wall with three new wildlings in tow. Per your command, they surrendered whatever valuables they held before being allowed entry into Castle Black." He pursed his lips, as if to refrain himself from sneering. "They also bring news of a large wildling army approaching the Gorge, intending to force a crossing over the Bridge of Skulls."

Jon frowned. He had learned from the free folk at Hardhome that while a large portion of the survivors flocked to Hardhome after Mance Rayder's defeat against Stannis Baratheon, just as many if not more scattered throughout the regions beyond the Wall and presumably returned to old dwellings and holdfasts looking for safety and refuge. Those who sought retribution rallied to the Weeper instead.

The Weeper unfortunately survived the fight at the Bridge of Skulls and was actively recruiting wildings in the haunted forest into his warband. His army continues to grow with each passing day, though it appears to be slow going since many were just as reluctant and wary of another foiled assault right after failing to breach the Wall.

"I'm aware that the Weeper has been gathering warriors throughout the haunted forest. If he is finally on the move then the garrison of the Shadow Tower will be alerted at once and prepared to defend the bridge."

"Aye, but it's not just the Weeping Man's army alone that's making its way towards the mountains."

That caught Jon by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"A different wildling host has been spotted marching south from somewhere near the Antler River," Ser Alliser spat to the side. "Because of their distance compared to the rest of the wildlings, I suspect this to be the rearguard of Mance Rayder's original host, though I can't fathom as to why it was sent elsewhere instead of supporting the main assault. Would have served the Watch well and good had most of them perished under Stannis Baratheon's heavy cavalry."

_Mance must have stationed them there to keep lookout over the Others' movements while the rest of his army advances towards the Wall._ It's what Jon would have done in his place. "How many?" he asked with a hint of trepidation.

"About thrice as large as the Weeper's," Thorne replied grimly. "Led by some disgruntled savage I have no doubt, but if the wildlings' words are to be trusted they managed to convince the remaining giants to mingle among their ranks."

This wasn't good.

By his estimations of the Weeper's numbers, Jon already predicted that a successful defense against his attacking army at the Bridge of Skulls can be doable, though costly. Ser Denys affirmed that he and his men were ready to push the wildlings back, and Jon would send every available men he can from Castle Black if needed be.

But that was only against one army. The Bridge of Skulls would be overwhelmed if the two separate armies combined or coordinated their attacks. The bridge was the only way across the Gorge and acts as a natural chokepoint for defenders to hold out against attacking wildlings even with inferior numbers on their side. However, it doesn't matter how many arrows or spears the Watch loosed or how long they could contain the fighting on the bridge itself, they would eventually tire out and all the wildlings would have to do is replace their own fallen with more troops and cut down the beleaguered watchmen one by one until their sheer numbers alone ensured their victory over the bridge.

With the bridge captured the Weeper would then sweep through the Shadow Tower and secure unrestricted entry into the lands of the Gift.

That _cannot_ happen.

Jon still planned to reach a compromise with the Weeper, just as he did with Tormund and the other free folk leaders, in exchange for peace, but the man wasn't making it easy for him to uphold that offer. He disliked Jon the moment he was brought to Mance Rayder's camp, and things would be no different now if they ever met face to face again.

Even reasoning with him was going to be doubly difficult. The Weeper held a sadistic streak as shown when he murdered three of the rangers Jon had sent out to scout the haunted forest and impaled their severed heads on top of spears with their eyes cut off, all for the brothers the Night's Watch to see. His actions only enflamed the tensions with the free folk residing at Castle Black.

Then there was this other wildling host. While the Weeper's leadership worried Jon, at least he was someone that Jon was familiar with and could ascertain his next actions with careful perusal. The unknown factor this army presented remains a much larger threat. He had no information on them at all. He didn't know who led them or if they were viable to join forces with the Weeper instead of staying independent.

Jon sincerely hoped whoever leads them is more amenable to compromise than the Weeper. He also needed to learn more about this other army, but for now he must think of a way to further strengthen the ranks of the Shadow Tower. And the only solution he could think of was...

"I'd advise against sending the wildlings to the Shadow Tower as reinforcements, Lord Commander," Ser Alliser grumbled, interrupting his thoughts.

_So he was thinking along the same lines._ "And why not, ser?"

"Because I don't trust those filthy heathens to restrain themselves from shoving a dagger in the backs of our brothers the moment they witness them in peril. If they catch even a scent that the Watch is weak, they will turn upon us like rabid dogs to their master."

_Not this again._ Jon could feel his temper rise at the insinuation behind the knight's words. "I told you, Tormund and the free folk gave me their word—"

"And are you certain that they will _keep_ to their word once they realize it's their ilk they're ordered to fight against?" Ser Alliser countered, unable to hold back sneering down at Jon from his upright position. "Who do you think they'll side with once the Weeper comes knocking at our gates with his thousands of raiders? Will they continue to support the Watch now that the Weeper has a fighting chance to overthrow us from the Wall and set their wildling brethern loose? Think upon that, _Lord Snow_."

With that, Ser Alliser Throne turned abruptly and left the room with a billow of his cloak.

Jon barely resisted the urge to slam his face against the table, settling for an aggravated sigh and running a hand through his tired face.

He had a long day ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no Toothless this chapter. Now we see how the situation for Jon is going at Castle Black. There's a few plot points here that may seem familiar to book readers while I've also modified some parts of it to include show elements. Hopefully it didn't end up contrived at how I mashed them up. I planned to release this chapter on my birthday two days ago, but constant rewrites just kept me busy haha.
> 
> Any thoughts, reviews or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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